Hans van de Waarsenburg |
melpomena |
The stillness of ashes
In the open wounds of blossom and
fresh green, the seal calls him.
He sees the water
grow hard as clear glass.
A limping melancholy rainstorm
bobbing on barren ground
no longer saves anything.
The doors banged closed.
Wind rustles overhead.
The vacuum expands.
A dream of warmth and sorrow
shatters against clear glass.
Shrivels and withers to the stillness of ashes.
Od "Selected poems (1980-2000)" |
melpomena |
The negative of time
In this hard land soft stone of seasons,
where autumn is no longer accidental.
The white linen cloth seems to have
been lowered permanently on the face,
mirrors out of the shadow
grows daily colder.
Until she takes her place:
making visible
what has been written,
rubs herself into him with soft lips.
The way you walk through the evening, he says then.
The way you don't give a damn for the day
finishes me.
Awakens the pike in my tongue
and the amoebe of your lips.
Fighting all about me in naked skin against death.
Not keeping a shred of shame,
in this negative of time.
Od "Selected poems (1980-2000)"
|
melpomena |
Lisbon
Sometimes at night I dream of Lisbon
Slack diary elapsing in sun
Crumbling in outdoor cafes, white that
Discolors fast, the steps now taken
The mouth sealed, the parchment uvula
A rippling, the disguising that you are.
In vain the ship hauls up the bluntness inside
Saudade dissolves in affectionate tide
But the morning will not steer time
Comfort you think, but it doesn’t
Still inhaling sleep, with the first sun
Sometimes at night I dream of Lisbon.
Od "Selected poems (1980-2000) |